Greenhouse Seven
by Canimal
Summary: (One Shot) Christmas 1965 - After a trying and stressful day, new Hogwarts professor Pomona Sprout stepped inside the Hog's Head for a glass of fire whiskey. Aberforth simply couldn't allow the intoxicated witch to walk home alone. **Prequel to "The Minister's Secret"**


_Author's Note: This is a prequel of_ The Minister's Secret _. It can be read on its own without reading TMS first, but just be aware it is in the same universe._

 **Rated M for language and adult situations**

* * *

Greenhouse Seven

December 25, 1965

Pomona Sprout stood at the window almost completely covered in frost watching the thestral-drawn carriages roll across the Hogwarts grounds towards the village of Hogsmeade and the scarlet Hogwarts Express that would take the students home for the Christmas holidays. It had been unsettling for her the first time she was able to see one of the creatures. Her mother only passed less than a year earlier. She was too young to die. Pomona had only _just_ been able to make it back to London from her expedition in the Amazon rainforest to hold her mother's hand as she slipped through the Veil. The Healers said there had been nothing they could have done. Sometimes people simply died too early.

It would be the first Christmas without her mother bustling around her kitchen making mountains of sweets and biscuits their small family of three could never completely consume. Her parents' neighbors were often the grateful recipients of their surplus. She wondered how different that day would feel when it arrived. Broken and lost by his wife's unexpected death, Pomona's father slipped steadily down the mental slope towards complete dementia. He was only in his eighties, still quite middle age for wizards, but somehow she knew he had no desire to live without his bubbly Mary by his side.

Part of her felt anger and bitterness towards her papa for not fighting harder to maintain his grasp on reality. She knew it was irrational. No one _chose_ to lose their minds. More than once she feared that it was somehow her fault that he never tried harder. Maybe if she hadn't always been gone travelling the world in search for exotic plants and remained close to home it would have been different. Maybe if she settled down, got married and blessed her parents with grandchildren her father would have had more of a reason not to completely fall apart.

She shook her head to banish the depressing thoughts from her mind. It was not her fault regardless of the number of times she might blame herself. His old school chum Albus Dumbledore approached her shortly after her mother's funeral when she still had no clue what her next move would be. His Herbology professor was retiring at the end of the year, he'd said. Would she be interested in applying for the position? It would allow her easier access to her father. He spent his days being cared for in a charming care home in Edinburgh.

The first term had been difficult. She was still learning how to effectively teach. There were politics within the school that she had not expected. Some days she still felt adrift without a paddle. Thoughts of running away to more exotic locales entered her mind frequently. Always she remembered her obligations to her ailing parent and tried to forget life outside of her native country. At least she had a couple of weeks before the students were set to return. A break would be nice.

Days later when Christmas arrived, Pomona was unsure what to do with her day. She was invited to share a large meal with the professors and students who remained in the castle over the break. Because she did not have anywhere else to go until that afternoon, she agreed. Trudging through the snow from the greenhouses always proved to be an arduous process. She wasn't surprised to discover she was the last to arrive.

"Right on time, Pomona. We were just about to start," declared the Headmaster.

With a smile at the other diners, she settled down in the only open chair between Minerva and Albus. The Transfiguration professor was only a few years behind Pomona in school in a different House of course. They had been friendly since Pomona began teaching, but never close. Minerva was already a veteran with three years of teaching to her credit. She seemed to like to think of herself as something of a mentor to the newest professor on staff. It had been frustrating for the Hufflepuff Head of House more often than it had been helpful. Maybe one day they would be friends. Pomona still held out hope.

"We were beginning to think you'd already left for Edinburgh," Albus stated as he began spooning roasted potatoes onto his plate.

"I will leave a little later this afternoon," she replied, hating that all eyes were turned in her direction. While she wasn't exactly shy, she hated all of the simpering looks of sympathy. Everyone present knew it was her first Christmas without her mother. "There's a festive lunch for all of the residents I won't want to interrupt."

"Please be sure you give Silvius my best," Albus replied.

The Hogwarts Christmas feast was nothing like its more formal Sorting and Halloween feasts. Naturally the castle's house elves were excited to show off their culinary skills with more food than three times the number of guests could consume without requiring a purge or possibly two. Everyone was much more relaxed and at ease with their fellow diners. Pomona assumed it had more to do with fewer raucous students being around than anything. Conversations were less formal even between the few remaining students and the staff. Only the occasional remark from Minerva reminding her that she shouldn't use the entire break between terms to engage in frivolous idleness marred the pleasantness of the meal.

"Do be sure you join us this evening at The Three Broomsticks for a few drinks, Pomona," Horace Slughorn said just moments after she rose from her seat and made her excuses to leave.

The potions professor had been a rather pompous irritant from the moment she stepped foot onto the grounds again. He seemed delighted to have another former student of his return to work at the castle. Clearly forgetting the fact that he'd known her when she was a tiny eleven year old, his interest in her was more than just as a colleague and potential friend. Within days of moving back into the castle, her not-so-secret admirer plagued her with his presence and boxes of the sickeningly sweet crystallized pineapple he seemed to devour by the crate load. It was only by a happy accident that she discovered her prized venomous tentacula just adored the treat. All subsequent tokens from Horace went straight to her carnivorous plants.

"That's very kind of you, Horace, but it may be quite late before I return."

She wanted to reject the man's invitation as politely as possible. Horace Slughorn was known for his rather prickly feelings. The last thing she wanted her first year as a professor was to create any unnecessary worries. Unfortunately, Horace could be a bit dim at times.

"Nonsense. There is still quite a bit of pleasure and enjoyment to be found in the late hours."

The sudden heat present in his gooseberry eyes went unnoticed by no one at the table. Several of the other members of staff, the Headmaster included, attempted and utterly failed to hide their amused smirks behind their hands and napkins. Even a couple of the older students snickered quietly at the remark. Pomona was mortified. She rushed from the Great Hall without responding. While not exactly what one might call a shy woman, she certainly did not appreciate being put on the spot in such an awkward manner.

She took her time walking to the gates once she was outside the castle. To be perfectly honest, she was not looking forward to visiting her father in the slightest. Silvius Sprout had always been such a prideful man. Larger than life in many ways, Pomona had always looked up to her father. The more downhill and dire his health became, the less he resembled the wizard she knew and loved. Watching him deteriorate before her eyes was heartbreaking. She almost wished that he had gone at the same time as her mother. He did not know how to even function alone.

At the main gates to the school grounds, Pomona took a deep, calming breath before turning in place to Apparate to Edinburgh. The journey itself was over quickly. She truly did not understand how Muggles could bear to ride around in those things for hours to get where they needed to be. As she stared at the red brick of the magical care home looming up ahead, she pulled her jumper down and adjusted her hat. Anything to delay her entrance.

"Best to get it over with," she muttered to herself before stepping inside.

The harsh scent of sterility assaulted her nose the instant she crossed the threshold. Always one to dig in the dirt, Pomona felt dirty and unclean. She slipped her hands in the pockets of her coat. No matter how many times she scrubbed at her hands, there were always particles of dirt and grass underneath her fingernails. Her mother used to scold her for lack of personal hygiene. She had been self-conscious ever since. Even with the standard two showers a day she took, she still never felt quite up to her mother's impossible standards.

"Happy Christmas, Miss Sprout," greeted the mediwitch at the reception desk.

"Happy Christmas."

"Your father will be so pleased to see you."

Pomona smiled shyly in the woman's direction before taking off towards her father's private room. His accommodations certainly weren't cheap. In her opinion, her father deserved the very best care. She was standing in the doorway long before she was ready.

Silvius Sprout seemed much smaller lying in his single bed than he always had in life. Lingering depression since the death of his beloved wife was responsible for his dramatic weight loss. Sprouts tended to be on the heavier side if they weren't disciplined. Pomona was already frighteningly aware of how easy it was to gain weight when one didn't spend their days hiking through miles and miles of dense rainforest. Seeing her papa look almost weedy made her heart hurt. Knowing she could not delay the inevitable much longer, she tapped lightly on the doorframe.

Her papa's eyes opened immediately at the sound. They narrowed briefly as he seemed to struggle to recognize who the witch standing in his doorway was. Pomona felt her eyes fill up with tears. She had a lifetime of warm, excited greetings to remember. He used to come into their home, pick his only child up under her arms and spin her around in circles until they were both laughing. This shrunken wizard did not even know who she was.

"Happy Christmas, Papa."

She plastered a bright smile on her face as she crossed the small room to kiss his cheeks. He was clearly confused, but did not say a word. The Healers warned her in an owl only days before that his condition was steadily growing worse. Pomona choked down the sobs stuck in her throat and continued with as much positivity as she could muster.

"I like your jumper, Papa. Very festive. Did Auntie Livia send that? She said she was working on a special jumper just for you."

Silvius stared down at the bright red woolen jumper he was wearing with an expression that seemed to indicate he hadn't seen it before. He stared up at his daughter with wide, confused eyes. It broke her already broken heart just a little bit more. She smoothed down the blanket that was covering him all the while keeping up a steady stream of inane chatter just to keep the room from being completely silent. After several minutes, her father narrowed his eyes again. A flash of recognition shone in his tired eyes.

"Moanie? When did you get here, sweet girl?"

She felt tears roll down her cheeks, but she didn't worry about brushing them away. Her father reached for her hand to squeeze.

"Oh, there there. No need to cry. I thought you were away in India. What brings you here?"

"It's Christmas, Papa. I didn't want you to be alone."

He pat the top of her hand and smiled.

"I'm not alone. Your mummy is just in the kitchen baking biscuits."

Her chest felt tight. She hadn't been to India since she was fresh out of Hogwarts sixteen years earlier. How could she explain to her father that he was mistaken? Should she even try? She didn't want to make his condition even worse.

"Your mum read me your last letter, Moanie. You said you might be bringing your young man for Christmas. Where is he?"

"Probably at home with his wife and four children," she muttered to herself.

Pomona hadn't thought about the wizard she fell in love with during her Herbology apprenticeship in India for years. Once upon a time she felt they had a future together, but it was not fated to last. She was pleased that he managed to move on quickly with another witch content to stay at home raising his children. Their largest arguments focused on her desire and wish to travel the world as much as possible. Secretly she felt that he was intimidated by her ambitions. Properly raised Pureblood witches should have no other hopes beyond the scope of their home. Or so those rubbish etiquette books her mother forced her to read as a young girl always said.

"His wife? Pomona Mary Sprout, that is _not_ how your mother and I raised you," exclaimed Silvius in the same tone she used to hear as child when she'd been particularly naughty. Obviously his mental health had not affected his hearing in any way. "Stay away from married wizards. They may speak pretty words and make you feel special, but I assure you they will _not_ leave their wives."

"Yes, Papa."

Seemingly satisfied that he had imparted wisdom to his wayward daughter, Silvius settled down. He reached for Pomona's hand just to simply hold it. She did not mind. The simple contact was still a balm to her soul. If she could cling to the moments where he was almost the man she remembered, maybe the difficult moments would be easier to bear. Almost as soon as the thought crossed her mind, Pomona felt her father tighten his grip on her hand. She looked up to catch him watching her with the same besotted expression she'd seen him stare at her mother with her entire life.

"Is that a new hat, Mary?" he asked, his voice dropping down to a low purr. "I think I rather like it."

"Thank you," she mumbled, uncomfortable how their visit was going.

"Of course I like everything you wear," he continued. "I like it even more when you wear nothing at all."

Pomona ripped her hand out of his as she attempted to choke down a sob. Not remembering who she was or thinking she was still a child was difficult to deal with already. The moments when he mistook her for her mother were unbearable. Ignoring his protests and his repeated cry of her deceased mother's name, Pomona fled from the room with tears streaming down her cheeks.

"Dearie, are you all right?"

An elderly witch stopped Pomona in the corridor with a gentle hand on her arm. Embarrassed that she was still openly crying in public, her first instinct was to turn around and flee. The moment the woman's arms wrapped around her back, Pomona all but collapsed into the embrace. Sometimes even a complete stranger was capable of providing the comfort a hurting person craved.

"Christmas isn't an easy day," the woman stated softly when Pomona broke the embrace a couple of minutes later.

"No, it's not," she agreed.

"Why don't you pop down the corridor for some tea? You will feel better."

The next several hours passed in a blur of awful cups of tea and meetings with her father's Healers. Even on a major holiday several of the staff members were popping in throughout the day. Sadly, they had to rely on holidays to ensure they were able to speak to some family members. It broke Pomona's heart a little to learn that many of the residents only received visitors once or twice a year. None of the news from the Healers was remotely encouraging. Her father's condition was steadily growing worse. Though none of them would come right out and give her a timeline, she knew that she had to make the most of the time she had. Her father would not live much longer.

Night had fallen by the time she kissed her father's cheek one final time. He had gone through several changes during her visit. More than once he had no idea who she was, but had been friendly to the polite stranger who reminded him of someone he was sure he'd met before. A couple of times he'd been hostile and demanded to know why she kept bothering him. Pomona hated that she actually enjoyed the all-too-brief moments when he thought she was still a child. Thankfully, he did not mistake her for a mother again.

She stood outside of the care home for several minutes to just take even more deep, calming breaths. Part of her felt that that was all she had done all day long. Visiting her father was never an enjoyable experience. It broke her heart that she felt the way she did. Her father was certainly not to blame for his dementia. Guilt invaded every cell of her body. She was a terrible daughter. No, she might not be like the visitors the Healers were telling her about that only came by once a year, but she still was terrible. What kind of daughter was she if she didn't even _want_ to be around the man who raised her in his weakest hour?

It was too cold to linger in one spot for too long. Pomona Disapparated from Edinburgh to land right in the middle of the cheerful village of Hogsmeade. All of the stores were closed for the holiday. Only the pubs were still open. She ignored the chill in the air to start walking down the deserted High Street. Lights up ahead spilling out of the windows of The Three Broomsticks reminded her of Horace's earlier offer for drinks. While a large glass of firewhiskey sounded heavenly, the last place she wanted to be after her stressful afternoon and early evening was anywhere near the Slytherin. She'd been around him in the staffroom once or twice after he'd been tippling. The thought of repeating the experience made her shudder in disgust.

She passed the short side street that led to the Hog's Head Inn. It had been years since she had gone anywhere near that disreputable establishment. Staff members had already warned her since she returned to Britain to avoid the place if possible. It was too dirty to be enjoyable. The barkeep was irascible and absolutely nothing like his elder brother the Headmaster. Pomona remembered having a butterbeer there once as a Seventh year in a sort of show of teenage rebellion. Her date, a shy Slytherin boy that had been working up the nerve to ask her out for months, thought it would be a fun place to go on a lark. Truthfully, she rather liked the dingy pub. That knowledge made her feel, once again, that she was somehow failing as a proper witch. Her mother would be ashamed of the state of her hands and how she was fairly certain she still had a least a little bit of dirt left in her hair from her repotting earlier that morning.

Pomona's feet carried her to the pub before her mind could come up with a good enough excuse to stay away. She pushed open the heavy, grimy door to enter the single room. The motley collection of merrymakers scattered around the pub would have made her mother cringe in fear and repugnance. Every single chair at the roughhewn wooden tables was occupied with all manner of individuals that would've never been invited over for tea at Mary Elizabeth Sprout née Travers' home. Pomona adored it all the more.

She crossed the dirty stone floor ignoring all of the stares from the current occupants to settle down on the only open barstool. Somehow she never imagined that the Hog's Head was ever that busy. Perhaps Christmas night was a special occasion. She waited patiently for the raven-haired and whiskered man pouring drinks to notice her. He filled up a dozen glasses from the same bottle of firewhiskey before banishing them all to different corners of the room with a single spell.

Aberforth Dumbledore was as physically different from his brother as he was the same. Though they were both tall with lean figures and twinkling blue eyes, there was a hardness in Aberforth that could not be found in his elder brother. His hair was every bit as long as Albus' though it was streaked with gray and not completely white yet. Pomona secretly suspected that Albus used potions to change his previously auburn hair to the sleek silver in an effort to appear older and more stately than he was. Aberforth kept his dark beard trimmed shorter as well. Maybe it was to keep hair out of his patrons' drinks.

"Firewhiskey, please," Pomona ordered when the gruff wizard asked her what she wanted in what sounded almost like a grunt.

He wasted no time filling up a glass to set it in front of the witch. If he was surprised to find an unattended woman in his pub, he made no mention. Simply went back to surveying the room to see if any of his other customers required more liquid refreshments. She truly did not mind being ignored. Her plan was only to enjoy a drink or two before making her way back to the castle grounds. With all of her students gone for the holidays, she was free to stay out in the greenhouses instead of her quarters inside the castle. It had been a pleasant surprise to learn there would be no Hufflepuffs remaining behind for the holidays. She would be able to spend as much time in her greenhouse office as possible working on future lesson plans. Horace rarely got the urge to tramp through the snow-covered grounds to bother her.

One drink turned into two quite rapidly. Pomona was astonished by how much she enjoyed the taste of the spirit. It settled in her stomach into a pleasing ball of warmth. She was forced to remove her coat before she emptied her second glass. Leaving quickly no longer seemed as appealing as it had when she entered. She was enjoying the loud, crass conversations going on around her. No one had approached her directly yet. It was both a relief and a bit of an insult if she chose to dwell on it too long. _Why_ was no one approaching her? She was only in her early thirties. Okay, _mid-_ thirties. Even if she had put on a stone since she started working as a professor, she was hardly portly! She was attractive even if she had to say so herself. Horace certainly wasn't the only wizard who had told her so in recent years.

By her third, or possibly her fourth, drink Pomona was able to relax enough to feel the stresses she incurred that day just melt off. Somehow with copious amounts of alcohol coursing through her veins she felt ready to tackle even the most unpleasant of realizations. Her father as she had known him was gone, but she still felt a sense of obligation to her mother to ensure that his last years on Earth were spent being well-cared for and as happy as it was possible for him to be. The further removed she was from the unsettling visit of earlier in the day, the easier it was to start planning when she would go to see him again. Foolishly, naively she assumed that she could be of some help. Maybe if she visited more often sparks of the man he used to be would come back.

"Are you sure you want another one, lass?"

Aberforth's tone was low when she asked him for a refill. Pomona stared into his beautiful blue eyes and found herself forgetting the question he was asking.

"Ach, pour the lady another one," declared a boisterous wizard making his way towards the bar.

"I've already told you to stay away from the lady, Mundungus. Do not make me ask you again. You won't like what happens."

The look of pure malice that Aberforth sent in the man's direction was enough to make even the bravest wizard stop in his tracks. Pomona giggled softly when she saw the terrified patron return to his seat. Aberforth did not take his eyes off of the short man until he was back in his own seat. At least she understood the reason why no one had approached her yet. She got the feeling the proprietor was keeping the less than savory clientele away from the Hogwarts professor.

"Yes, please. I would like another," she answered with a smirk.

Aberforth's gaze dropped down almost imperceptibly to the quirk of a smile she still had on her lips. Moments later he cleared his throat and reached for the open bottle of firewhiskey. Pomona had always thought the barkeep was attractive. Even as a teenager she thought he had some undefined quality about him that she liked. Maybe it was the fact that she knew next to nothing about him other than he was the little brother to her boss. He was a mysterious man. Dozens of questions rolled around in her brain that she longed to ask. Less and less of them were appropriate as the evening wore on.

"What's a pretty lass like you doing in here by yourself on Christmas, anyway?" Aberforth asked somewhere around the fifth or maybe six glass. Most of the patrons had already gone home for the night, but Pomona was in no hurry. She didn't want to run the risk of bumping into Horace on the walk back to the castle. The later she stayed, the less likely they would have an encounter. "There are cleaner places for you to spend an evening."

"I never mind getting dirty."

The wizard's eyes widened slightly when she made her remark. Too late she realized what it sounded like she was saying. In her addled and clearly intoxicated state, Pomona could not find it in her to be ashamed. When she saw the hint of a blush on the few parts of his face that were covered in whiskers, she giggled and felt her stomach lurch. He seemed at a loss as to what to say in response. She took pity on him.

"I'm the Herbology professor," she explained. "I'm up to my elbows in dirt most parts of my day."

"Oh, I see."

Aberforth cleared his throat again. He picked up a filthy rag and began wiping even filthier glasses. Clearly she unnerved him and she couldn't help but find some happiness in that fact. Pomona sipped at her glass, relishing the feel of the burn as the liquid made its way down to her belly.

"I'm here because it was either this or trying to fend off Horace Slughorn's drunken advances at the Three Broomsticks."

He sneered at the mention of the Potions professor.

"Can't say that I blame you for that then. Never much cared for Slughorn. Bit obnoxious when we were at school."

"I assure you he hasn't improved since becoming a professor."

"Isn't he a bit old to chase after a young witch like you? He and I were in the same year."

"Oh, I don't know. Age isn't that important really. There's certainly something to be said for experience after all."

Pomona could hardly believe the words that were tumbling out of her mouth. The redness returned to the wizard's cheeks at her mention of experience. She felt uncharacteristic courage with the countless ounces of firewhiskey polluting her bloodstream. Was she actually flirting with the man? She thought about it for a moment and decided that she was. And she liked it.

"Are you the reason none of the other wizards came up to me tonight?" she asked a short time later when there were even fewer customers to overhear their conversation.

"You looked like you were having a difficult night," he explained. His eyes focused entirely on the bar in front of them as he spoke. "Christmas can be hard for a lot of people. I understand that firsthand. I didn't want you to be bothered so I may have cast a barrier spell around your barstool. A variation on a Notice-Me-Not spell. It started to wear off again when Fletcher started prowling over here."

"That was quite sneaky of you, Mr. Dumbledore."

"Can you honestly tell me that you would want to go home with any of those cretins?"

She threw her head back and laughed loudly at his remark. Amused by her response, Aberforth joined in with his own chuckles. Pomona discovered that she quite liked the sound he made when he laughed. She wanted to hear it more often. As her mind began to drift down perilous lanes of thought wondering what other sounds he made that she thought she might enjoy, she stopped laughing. She could feel her cheeks burning and hoped that the wizard did not have the ability to read her mind.

"No, I certainly did not want to go home with any of your customers," she answered when she finally trusted herself enough to speak again. "Thank you. I appreciate your thoughtfulness. You're right. I was having a difficult night."

Aberforth moved his hand across the bar. She could see him hesitate for several beats before he finally placed his hand on top of hers. The effect of his palm brushing against the top of her hand was almost electric. Pomona felt a jolt in her gut at the contact. Her eyes shot up from the bar to stare into his. Neither of them said anything. They did not need to. It was obvious they both felt it.

"I should probably be getting back to the castle."

Pomona knocked back the last of her drink in a single swallow. When she tried to place money on the bar to pay for her drinks, Aberforth waved it off. She started to argue with him until she realized it would be futile. As carefully as possible, she hopped off of the barstool. Her short legs swayed ever so slightly when they reached the ground. If Aberforth hadn't reached across the bar just in time to grab her shoulder, she might have fallen.

"Let me walk you back to the castle."

Once more she started to argue, but lost all desire when the tall wizard swept around from behind the bar. She didn't want to tell him to stay. A walk through the snow with the taciturn barkeep sounded like the perfect way to end a dismal day. Pomona smiled at him and allowed him to help her slip her arms into the sleeves of her coat.

"Pub's closing!" Aberforth barked to the three drunken customers still left at the tables. "Get out!"

A few minutes later when everyone had stumbled out into the snow, Aberforth and Pomona started the long walk to the castle. Neither of them said much to begin with, but she still found the act quite enjoyable. Sometimes words weren't necessary. She stumbled a couple of times. To keep her from falling face first into the snow, Aberforth offered his arm.

"Quite the gentleman, Mr. Dumbledore."

Aberforth snorted.

"Hardly. Stop calling me Mr. Dumbledore. It makes me feel old."

She started giggling remembering the content of their conversation earlier in the evening when Horace was a topic.

"All right. It makes me feel _older_ , lass."

"You can stop calling me 'lass' too. I feel almost like a naughty schoolgirl being caught out of bounds and awaiting punishment. You can call me Pomona."

Aberforth almost choked when she spoke. He cleared his throat and took a deep breath.

"All right, _Pomona_."

They continued their walk in silence for another couple of minutes. Pomona completely forgot the reason why she had been avoiding the Three Broomsticks until they were right upon the popular establishment. In a terrible coincidence of poor timing, the door to the pub opened right as they were passing by. A visibly intoxicated Horace Slughorn exited looking a bit worse for wear. He was midway through an off-key verse of some horrid drinking song she'd heard him bellowing through the castle grounds before. The moment his eyes fell on Pomona, he stopped singing.

"Pomona dear, you're late."

She started to say something in response, but her words were cut off when Aberforth wrapped his arm around her shoulder and pulled her closer. Horace's eyes narrowed at the gesture.

"She's not late, Slughorn. She's been with me all evening."

Horace began to sputter indignantly. His already red, splotched face grew even darker. Pomona had to choke down a laugh when Aberforth tightened his hold even further. Clearly they were two men that did not care for the other. She resisted the urge to roll her eyes at what was obviously a lingering school rivalry. Would some people never fully move on from their younger years?

"Well, there is no need for you to continue to escort the lady back to the castle, Dumbledore. I am headed that way. Surely Pomona will be just as pleased with my company as yours."

"Nonsense," Aberforth retorted. He turned his gaze on Pomona and smiled. When he spoke again, his tone was deeper and she felt her stomach swoop in anticipation. "Mona promised me a tour of the greenhouses. There's a plant there I'm curious to see."

The Potions professor grew even more agitated at hearing the shortened form of her name fall out of Aberforth's mouth. Pomona was delighted. She tried to keep calm knowing that he was simply playing a part to keep her out of an awkward and uncomfortable situation with Horace. She appreciated that he was willing to pretend there was something going on between them for her benefit. It was a kind gesture. Of course her traitorous mind could not help but imagine what it would be like if he wasn't pretending. Her face felt warmer the steamier her thoughts became.

"I hope I didn't overstep my bounds just now," Aberforth whispered directly in her ear. He towered above her by several inches and it was a bit of a stoop for him to reach. "Slughorn gets on my nerves."

Pomona giggled like the school girl she hadn't been in almost twenty years. Aberforth smirked, pleased with the effect he was having on the younger witch. They both watched the affronted professor rush off towards the castle as swiftly as his short, inebriated legs would carry him. When they found themselves alone on the path through the woods leading to the castle, Pomona began to feel nervous. It had been a long time since she'd been properly alone with a man. Especially one she was attracted to.

"You don't really have to walk me all the way to the castle grounds," she declared. "I can make it back myself."

"What kind of gentleman would I be if I left an intoxicated woman alone in woods infested with dumpy, little Slytherins in ridiculous frock coats?"

An unattractive snort escaped from her mouth before she could stop it. Truthfully she had been a bit afraid that he would leave her if she offered him an out. The walk really was quite far. When he made it clear that he would see her all the way to the gates at the very least, they travelled for several more minutes in silence. Aberforth still kept his arm around her frame even if there were no witnesses to see. Pomona could not help but think that was significant somehow.

A hesitant conversation struck upon between the two as they continued. No one else was on the lane. The time was after midnight. They stayed away from important or serious topics. Pomona certainly did not want to think about how awful most of her Christmas had been. She was content to answer the myriad of questions that Aberforth asked about her plants. He seemed to be knowledgeable about all manner of flora. Her Herbology loving heart was impressed.

"I actually have a rare Angel's Trumpet in one of my greenhouses. It's highly toxic and controlled by the Ministry. I'm not supposed to have it actually."

Aberforth chuckled. Part of her had been slightly worried that he would be horrified to know that she was hoarding illegal plants in her greenhouse. It wasn't exactly what a respectable Hogwarts professor was supposed to do. Somehow they were expected to be above reproach and be held to a higher standard than most witches and wizards in the country. They were responsible for educating the future after all. Or at least that was some of the rubbish she'd had spewed at her from Minerva on more occasions than she could count.

"I hope it is kept out of the reach of students," he replied.

"Of course! I'm not a fool. Greenhouse Seven is full of my more _exotic_ plants. There are intricate wards set up around it to make certain no students enter."

"A _private_ greenhouse, you say?"

She didn't understand why suddenly her chest felt tight and her palms were sweaty. His voice dropped lower when he spoke. She also did not miss the emphasis he placed on the word 'private'. And she knew she wasn't imagining his hand gently rubbing her shoulder. There was no reason for him to continue the contact. Horace was long gone. Unless he was hiding in the woods waiting for them to pass, he would never see the gesture.

"Yes, it's connected to my private greenhouse quarters too. I sleep out there when I have to be on hand to care for sick plants at odd hours or when none of the students are in the castle."

Pomona had no idea what possessed her to admit to the man that she actually had a bed out in the greenhouse. She felt that she was babbling nervously and making very little sense. Quiet chuckles from Aberforth proved he was at least amused by her declaration. She bit on the inside of her cheeks, willing herself to keep from blurting out anything else that would embarrass her in the light of day.

The Hogwarts gates appeared only a short time later. Already locked for the evening, she temporarily feared that she would have to rouse the Keeper of the Keys to allow her entrance. Tongues would wag if she was discovered to be alone with the Headmaster's younger brother that late at night. Before she could work herself into a full panic, she remembered that her status as a professor meant she was able to open and close the gates at will. Only a simple Alohomora spell was required.

"You were very kind to walk me this far. I think I am out of danger."

"But I haven't seen this Angel's Trumpet you spoke so highly of yet."

"Do you really want to see the plant?"

Aberforth's laughter rang through the still night air. Pomona worried that she said something wrong. When he followed her through the open gates, she received her answer that he was indeed quite serious about viewing the plant. She closed the gates, muttered the locking spell and led him in the direction of the greenhouses where she spent most of her waking hours.

The walk to the greenhouses was over almost as soon as it began. Each step made her even more nervous than the previous. She was not a naïve woman. There was really only one reason why a man would invite himself over to a woman's greenhouse to view her _plants_ at half past midnight. She hadn't missed the looks that he sent in her direction all evening long when he thought she wasn't looking. There was no shame in inviting him inside. They were both adults.

She paused just outside of Greenhouse Seven. No one ever went in there with her. Some of her older NEWT students had been in a time or two to view a special plant, but those instances were rare. This was the one place on the whole castle grounds that she felt completely comfortable. It was her sanctuary. Her hand rested on the doorknob. The hesitation was noticed by Aberforth. Before she realized what was happening he had his entire body pressed up against her back. Pomona had to remind herself to breathe when his hands began to move up and down her arms. He leaned down to whisper in her ear for the second time that night.

"I would love to see your plants, my dear, but I think perhaps I should go. If you wished to extend the invitation for another night, I would be very interested."

His lips brushed against the outside of her ear. Pomona shivered at the contact, but said nothing. Aberforth was in no hurry to move his mouth away.

"Please don't make me wait too long," he said with a soft laugh.

He kissed her cheek before stepping back. She missed the feel of him up against her the moment he was gone. Aberforth smiled at her one final time and turned back towards the gates. Pomona stood in the open doorway of the greenhouse watching the wizard leave. She had no intention of making him wait long before she invited him back.


End file.
